


War & Peace

by bauble



Series: Sex Bucket List [3]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 16:17:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13368477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bauble/pseuds/bauble
Summary: Coda to the Sex Bucket List universe in which Eames & Sudheer come to an uneasy detente. Again.





	War & Peace

There's someone at the door, but Arthur's not scheduled to arrive for another day. 

Eames sets down his book. He unplugs a desk lamp, which is perfectly shaped for bludgeoning—trust Arthur's décor to be multifunctional—and stands. A key turns in the lock, but whoever's turning it is most definitely not Arthur. The door swings open and Eames slides behind it, out of sight. 

A familiar shape darkens the entranceway. Eames lowers the lamp.

"What are you doing here?" Eames asks.

Sudheer raises one dark, exceptionally handsome eyebrow, not seeming at all startled by Eames' presence. "Arthur returns tomorrow. I'm here to provide a warm homecoming."

"That won't be necessary." Eames returns the lamp to the table. "Arthur has other plans."

"Is that right?" Sudheer says, carrying his suitcase through the door and setting a chic coat on top of it. "He's aware of these plans with you?"

"He—" Eames pauses. Eames spent the last several weeks complaining about the heat of Morocco in order to surprise Arthur upon his return to Paris. It appears that this clever ruse may be backfiring.

Sudheer rolls his eyes. "He has no idea you're here, does he? Thinks you're freeloading in some other country."

"Arthur has issued an open invitation for me to stay here whenever—"

"Well, he asked me to pick him up at the airport tomorrow, so…" Sudheer crosses his arms and jerks his head at the door.

Eames takes a step back. "Are you implying that I should vacate the premises?"

"You don't have to leave, but I sure as hell won't be taking the couch."

"The couch," Eames repeats. "I was here first!"

"Unless you'd prefer to share the bed." Sudheer flutters his absurdly long eyelashes at Eames. It's ludicrous on a grown man, yet Eames can easily imagine fawning admirers fainting at the sight.

"The bed is more than big enough for two, so yes, let's share." Eames feels a warm glow of satisfaction when Sudheer's smile disappears. "I shall have to insist you restrain your baser impulses, however. I know my animal sexuality presents a nearly irresistible temptation."

"Ugh," Sudheer mutters. "I'm not sure there'll be room left on the bed between you and your ego."

"Having second thoughts about your offer?"

Sudheer lifts his chin. "No."

"Excellent."

"Yes." Sudheer purses his lips. "I'm going to buy some groceries. I expect all that's in the fridge are stale leftovers."

"My leftover _banh mi_ is your leftover _banh mi_ ," Eames says, with a mocking bow.

"I'll be back in a few hours. Try not to diminish the property value of this apartment any further, will you?"

"No promises," Eames chirps with a jaunty wave. He waits a full minute after the door shuts before dashing to his laptop. Arthur's flight isn't for another six hours, which means he's likely still at his hotel.

Eames calls Arthur on Skype, praying that Sudheer hasn't contacted him first via text or phone, and is greeted by a sleepy face. Arthur's wearing one of the hotel terrycloth robes, his voice is a low rumble. "Hey, babe. How you doin' tonight?"

"Let's save the mafia roleplay for later, shall we?" Eames says tersely. "You won't believe who I ran into today."

The lascivious expression slips from Arthur face. "Who—wait, Eames, where are you?"

"Guess."

There's a pause. "You're not in my apartment, are you? Because you were supposed to be--"

"My job ended early and I thought I'd surprise you." Eames pauses. "Surprise."

"Sudheer came by the apartment, didn't he?" At Eames' silence, Arthur scrubs a hand across his face. "Fuck. Bad timing. I didn't expect you to be back yet."

"You couldn't have told me that he was scheduled to see you this week?"

"We've talked about this. The last three times I gave you details about my scheduled time with Sudheer, you broke into his home—"

"That was a pure coincidence. I happened to be in the area and was caught in a small gunfight—"

"You stole his car—"

"I was borrowing that American-made junk-heap for a job—"

"You showed up in the middle of our date—"

"I was casing the jewelry store next door—"

"Eames," Arthur says, flatly. "You know Sudheer is a part of my life. You knew this going in. You need to stop trying to sabotage the time I spend with him."

"I—" Eames goggles at Arthur. "You think I came to Paris to spite him? Bloody hell, Arthur. I came because I wanted to see you."

"Really?" Arthur sounds skeptical. "And this is all pure, weird coincidence?"

"Arthur, I just wrapped up a job that involved three mimes and a bear cage. Literally the only thing I cared about as I took an express train away from that clusterfuck was how much I wanted to relax and be with you again," Eames says. "Do you think seeing Sudheer would be something I consider relaxing in any way, shape or form? Do you think I would voluntarily subject myself to his presence after spending over twenty dream hours trapped with mimes?"

Arthur's expression softens. "Babe..."

"Don't 'babe' me. It's been over a month and role-playing through videoconference isn't the same," Eames says. "I find the lag terribly distracting."

Arthur sighs. "I know. A month is—it's been tough. I don't like it either. But I owed Jenkins one and now that favor's been repaid. It's done."

"You're coming back and, what—Sudheer's already filled your dance card for the week?"

Arthur looks pained. "Isn't there some way the two of you could, uh—"

"Share you? Shall we trade for evenings and mornings of quality time? How about a lunch? Is it worth half a dinner?" Eames is aware of how clipped his tone is, and that this isn't Arthur's fault. But if Arthur would simply stop indulging that lunatic, life would be so much better. For Eames, at any rate.

"That’s not fair. It's not like I get upset when you spend a weekend with Hyori."

"That's different. Hyori's sane."

Arthur's voice drops to a dark mutter. "Not that sane."

"What was that?" 

"She thinks I'm one of the worst point men in the business."

"Well, you were drunk for significant portions of that first job—"

"It was over six years ago!" Arthur sounds deeply aggrieved. "I have worked nearly a hundred jobs since then and have I been drunk on any of them? No, no I have not."

"You were high during the extraction in Mogadishu—"

"I was drugged!" Arthur interrupts. "I was literally roofied."

"Darling, you know you'll always be my favorite point man," Eames says, soothingly. "Now, about Sudheer—"

Arthur sighs. "I'll call him. He's probably pissed about you being in Paris."

"He's pissed? What about me?"

"What about you? He's picking me up at the airport and I promised I'd spend the week with him. You were the one that lied about where you were."

"I did not lie. I misled in order to provide you the most delightful surprise imaginable," Eames protests. "And I would have picked you up at the airport if you'd asked."

"How can I ask when you're busy misleading me?" Arthur's voice is bone dry.

"You are being impossible," Eames declares. "I am the injured party here. Injured whilst attempting to provide for you a thoughtful, erotic gift interrupted by a rude interloper—"

"I have to get ready for my flight," Arthur says. "I'll talk to Sudheer and we'll deal with this once I'm in Paris."

* * * * *

Sudheer returns to the flat at a rather late hour.

Eames frowns over his reading glasses as Sudheer strips carelessly, leaving a puddle of clothing on the bedroom floor. His body is elegantly muscular, long lines of flawless skin. That tosser. 

Eames takes off his glasses and turns out his reading light. Sudheer voices no dismay at the room plunging into darkness, slipping under the covers on the far side of the bed. "I would have thought you'd be gone by now," Sudheer says. "Any man with a modicum of self-respect would be."

Eames rolls his eyes at the obvious attempt to goad. "No such luck."

"No," Sudheer replies quietly. "I haven't had much luck with Arthur for a while now."

Eames glances over at Sudheer, barely visible in the darkness. There's the scent of liquor in the air. "I hope you're aware that Arthur would be extremely displeased if you attempted to smother me to death in my sleep."

"Believe me, I am aware," Sudheer says. It sounds off, and Eames realizes it doesn't carry the usual challenge he's used to hearing. Mostly Sudheer sounds—weary.

Unsettled, Eames closes his eyes, waiting for Sudheer's breathing to slow before drifting off into uneasy sleep himself.

* * * * *

Arthur's homecoming doesn't go as poorly as Eames expected. Neither does it go as well as his fondest imaginings.

Sudheer opens the door and rolls in Arthur's luggage. Arthur follows a few steps behind, looking immaculately pressed despite the plane ride. He is so gorgeous it makes Eames' heart rise in his chest, filled with tender buoyancy.

The three of them stand in the flat, staring at each other awkwardly for a moment. "I guess you guys didn't burn the place down yet," Arthur says, and that's it, Eames can't restrain himself anymore.

"Darling, I've missed you," Eames says, enfolding Arthur in his arms. After a month of jerking off to webcam video and grainy selfies, here Arthur is. Solid and beautiful and warm.

Arthur squeezes back and presses the briefest of kisses to Eames' ear. "Me, too."

"How are you?"

Arthur sighs. "I feel like gum that's been chewed up, shit out, and stepped on."

Eames squeezes him tight. "Well, you look lovely."

Arthur snorts. "Liar."

After separating, they both glance at Sudheer. Eames doesn't feel triumphant—after all, Sudheer probably had a longer and more affectionate hello at the airport—but he feels, well. Arthur isn't trying to hide Eames, and that's gratifying enough.

Sudheer's expression is indecipherable. "Are you hungry, Arthur? I'll make dinner."

Arthur's face lights up. "Can you make—"

"Ratatouille. Your favorite."

"Shit, that sounds amazing." Arthur's practically salivating. "I've been living off sandwiches and canned crap, I swear."

"I know." Sudheer touches Arthur's cheek. "You could use a good home-cooked meal."

Jealousy flares up inside Eames, and he fights the urge to shoulder his way between them and snarl. "Sounds like you'll be busy in the kitchen," he says, grabbing Arthur's suitcase. "Let me help Arthur unpack in the meantime."

Arthur glances between Sudheer and Eames, clearing expecting Sudheer to protest. Sudheer's lips thin, but his expression remains opaque as he watches them go.

Eames shuts the bedroom door behind Arthur and pushes him back onto the bed. "Welcome home."

Arthur leans up on his elbows while Eames strips. "Thank you. I think."

"One moment." Eames kneels down to undo Arthur's belt buckle. "I'll give you something to thank me for."

Arthur's cock is warm in Eames' mouth, the weight and heft reassuring after a month away. The shape of veins, the smell, the texture—nothing that could be rendered through a screen. Eames stares up at Arthur as he sucks, trying to convey how foolishly fond and adoring he feels, how wonderful it is to be together.

Arthur's fingers are gentle in Eames' hair, expression soft. "It's good to touch you again, baby."

Eames pulls off Arthur's cock and grabs a condom. Arthur tries to sit up, but Eames keeps him pressed to the mattress. "I thought about you constantly," Eames whispers as he straddles Arthur's hips. "I wanted—I wanted to fly out and see you. But I knew it could have ruined your job if I did."

"Talking to you was the best part of my day," Arthur says quietly as Eames sinks down onto him with a sigh. "I couldn't wait to get back and hear your voice."

Eames bends forward to catch Arthur's lips with his. "Thirty days was too long. Don't go for thirty days again."

"I won't." Arthur kisses back fiercely. "I won't."

Words disappear into kisses and low moans, Eames losing himself in sensation. Arthur knows his body the way no one else does, can make him tremble and shudder with the smallest flick of his hips. The pleasure is immense, but even more than that is the sheer joy of being with Arthur again, holding him, touching him. 

"I love you," Eames whispers, after they've both come and he's sprawled across Arthur like a blanket.

Arthur presses butterfly kisses all over Eames' face. "Me, too."

"You love yourself, do you?" Eames teases, poking Arthur lightly in the ribs.

Arthur ducks his head. "You know what I mean."

Eames smiles. "I suppose I do."

The afterglow doesn't last. "Is this shitty?" Arthur asks, smile fading. "Me, having sex with you after Sudheer picked me up and is cooking me dinner?"

"What you and Sudheer do is between the two of you."

"Except when it isn't." Arthur pets the small of Eames' back absently. "Fuck, something smells fantastic."

There is a delicious aroma wafting from the kitchen. Damn Sudheer—of course he's a master chef on top of everything else. "Do you want to take a shower?"

"I probably should, considering I smell like airport and messy sex." Arthur nudges Eames away. "Let's do it separately, okay? I don't want to get—uh, distracted, halfway through."

Eames relaxes in the Arthur-scented sheets and stretches. He doesn't have to leave for another week, which will give him seven days of staring into Arthur's eyes like a silly teenager. Provided Sudheer takes the hint and buggers off.

Arthur finishes showering and heads out while Eames cleans himself, humming cheerfully. He emerges to Arthur leaning against Sudheer in the kitchen, face lit up with laughter, and feels his good mood evaporate.

They don't notice Eames immediately, talking about old military comrades. Arthur chuckles while Sudheer watches him, infatuation written all over his features. After over a decade, Sudheer is still in love with Arthur. That wanker.

A timer dings and Sudheer goes to the stove.

"Hey, Eames," Arthur says, seeing him at last. "You hungry? Dinner's ready."

Eames raises an eyebrow. "Enough for three?"

"Of course," Sudheer replies. He's holding a wineglass, barely touched. The wineglass in Arthur's hand is nearly empty. "Would you like to join us?"

Not especially, Eames' mind replies, though a petty part of him wouldn't mind disrupting their romantic candlelit dinner. His stomach growls, voicing its own unsolicited opinion in the matter.

Then the hazy memory of Sudheer possibly poisoning one of Arthur's previous lovers drifts to mind.

"Actually, I already have dinner plans," Eames says. Another thought occurs to him: how many times has this precise scenario played out? With Sudheer offering dinner to Arthur and another man in Arthur's life?

"That's too bad," Sudheer says as Arthur stares into his wineglass. "Enjoy your evening."

Eames nods and flees, feeling as though he's the intruder in this strange domestic tableau: Arthur loose and happy, laughing with someone that isn't Eames.

* * * * *

Eames returns to the flat the following morning, having had no desire to listen to an evening's worth of loud sex not involving him.

He knows better than to expect Sudheer gone, but he can't help the wisp of disappointment at finding him in the living room, exercising.

"Arthur's still asleep. Jetlagged," Sudheer says in between pushups. He's barefoot, in pajamas that show off his perfect physique.

"Yes, he must be exhausted after the ten hour flight," Eames agrees, inanely, toying with the bouquet of flowers he's holding. Should he assert his claim to Arthur now? Does he have a whole day to himself or does he have to share? "I'm going to put these in water."

Eames is walking away when Sudheer speaks. "Arthur said you're in love with him. Is that true?"

Eames should stop being caught off-guard by Sudheer's lurches from pleasantries to intimate conversational topics; he was a military interrogator, after all. This is his bread and butter. "Why do you ask?"

"I asked you if you loved him when we first met. You said no," Sudheer peers up at him. "Was that a lie?"

"That was over two years ago. Things—change." Eames glances over his shoulder at the closed bedroom door. "You might be better off inquiring with Arthur."

Sudheer sits back on his heels. "What's the point in asking when I already know the answer?"

* * * * *

Eames intends to allow Arthur to sleep in peace, he truly does. But when he enters the bedroom to fetch a fresh set of clothing, there Arthur is, star-fished across the mattress. It's a sign of how addled Eames has become that he even missed Arthur's open-mouthed drooling.

Eames slides in alongside Arthur, over the covers. Almost immediately, Arthur's breathing changes.

Arthur's eyes open, back of his hand coming up to wipe away saliva. "You do realize how unsettling it is to fall asleep next to one person and wake up next to someone else, don't you?"

"Especially if one of them is a forger."

Arthur chuckles. "Don't make me more paranoid than I already am." 

"I brought you something." Eames proffers the bouquet of wildflowers. Rustic, the shop-girl had described them as.

"Eames." Arthur buries his nose in them, eyes squinting up in a happy smile. "Thank you."

"I can put them in water."

"In a little bit," Arthur says, touching the petals of a daisy carefully. "What time is it?"

"About noon." Eames flips over the pillow he's been resting his cheek on. Alas, both sides smell of Sudheer.

"Want to go for a run?"

"How do you know I didn't go already?"

"I dunno." Arthur lifts on shoulder, voice taking on a flirtatious cast. "Maybe you could go on a second one? Wear that jockstrap I like?"

Eames sits up and tickles Arthur's side. "You, sir, are a pervert."

"This from the man watching me sleep."

"Interacting with unconscious bodies is what I do for a living."

"Don't I know it." Arthur's expression changes. "Shit, I promised I'd go out with Sudheer today."

"For how long?" Eames tries to keep the petulance out of his voice and fails, spectacularly.

"We were going to check out an exhibit at the _Institut du Monde Arabe_ and get lunch at _Pavillon LeDoyen_ and shop for a new—"

"The whole day then."

"Eames." Arthur sighs. "Sudheer's here for a week. After that, I'm all yours."

"I'm only here for a week," Eames retorts. "Or did you forget my job in Mombasa?"

"Well, you were the one that didn't tell me you were coming early," Arthur snaps, sounding exasperated. "I wasn't planning—"

"Would it have made a difference if I had? You would have, what, divided up the week between Sudheer and I?" Arthur doesn't respond. "We'd be in the exact same scenario, then."

"Well, you wouldn't both be here at the same time, at least."

Eames shakes his head and stands. "This is like battling for custody."

"Can't you find a way to get along?" Arthur gets out of bed. "You two have so much in common. Like an interest in languages, and—"

"Languages? Seriously, Arthur?"

Arthur sighs. "I should get dressed. Sudheer's waiting and I can—let's get a drink after dinner tonight, okay?"

"Drinks, then." Eames says, fighting the urge to drag Arthur back to the bed and convince him not to leave.

* * * * *

"Hullo, Eames," Tansy says, adjusting her webcam. "How are you?"

"Rather out of sorts," he replies.

"Uh oh. Trouble with Arthur?"

"Trouble with—" Eames huffs. "Why would you immediately leap to that conclusion? There are many possible sources of discontent in my life."

"You're dressed quite smartly, which you don't usually bother with unless you're around Arthur. And you've this particular forlorn glaze that comes over you whenever the two of you have a row."

Eames frowns. "I don't know why I allowed you to talk me into teaching you about observation. The minor knowledge in your possession has inspired you to make wild accusations."

"You adore dispensing advice and feeling sage." Tansy props her chin up in her palm. "Now what's made you this grumpy?"

"I don't wish to discuss it. Wouldn't you prefer to prattle on about the inanities of student life?" 

"Classes are tedious, lecturers are pompous, and everyone my age is unbearably self-important," she rattles off. "I'm still in the grips of an existential crisis over who I am and who I should become, but it's not as though you're going to help with that."

He shrugs. "Indeed."

"I am terribly curious about this business with Arthur, though. You two seem well suited to each other and uninterested in conventional trappings that imprison other couples. What could be the problem?"

"There is the distinct possibility that he could—" Eames clears his throat and forces himself to articulate what has only been a foggy thought until now. "He could leave me. For someone else, perhaps. Or because he's grown bored with me. I can be quite tiresome, after all."

"But isn't that simply the default state of all relationships?" Tansy asks, sounding puzzled. "He always has the option to leave, with or without someone else. As do you."

"Yes, but I've discovered that people, as a rule, dislike change. Inertia will hold them in situations indefinitely until a clearly superior option presents itself and forces the issue."

"What a romantic view."

Eames shrugs again. "I've rather outgrown romance."

"Has Arthur stumbled upon a clearly superior option, then?"

"Marginally superior in a few ways, vastly inferior in most. But that is an objective assessment. Unfortunately, rarely are decisions of the heart decided on such rational bases."

Tansy chuckles. "Then perhaps the best course of action would be prove yourself vastly superior in the ways most likely to sway an emotional, non-objective assessment."

"There are limits to my ability to augment my good looks. Although I suppose—"

"Eames, why don't you try talking to him? An exciting evening out? Remind him why he's with you in the first place. Surely it's not all about appearance."

"Nothing you're saying makes any sense at all. It's like you're speaking gibberish instead of words."

She laughs. "Alright, fine. But I'm telling you: a spot of fun and excitement go a long way."

* * * * *

" _Bonjour_ ," Arthur says behind Eames, in his atrociously accented French.

Eames swivels on his barstool. " _Bonjour_."

"Come here often?" Arthur asks, taking a seat beside Eames.

Eames lifts a shoulder. "I've been here once or twice before. You?"

"Same. Let me guess: you're waiting for a date."

"What makes you say that?"

Arthur gives Eames a long, appreciative scan up and down. "A guy that looks like you always has a date."

Eames sits back, amused and pleased by the flattery. "A bit forward of you to be talking to me, then, if my date could turn up at any minute."

"Then how about we finish up our drinks and get out of here before he does?"

Eames raises an eyebrow. "Perhaps you'd like to buy a bloke a drink before all that?"

Arthur's brow furrows. "You sure you wouldn't rather get out of here?"

"Occasionally I enjoy some conversation with my alcohol."

"A round of drinks on me, then." Arthur waves over the bartender. "And some… conversation."

One round turns into several rounds as they sit at the bar, flirting and laughing together. Eames probes the edges of Arthur's role playing persona (another version of the confident American globetrotter he usually plays) and reveals truthful bits about a previous job, his upcoming trip to Mombasa.

"Do you have to leave so soon?" Arthur asks, tracing a ring on the bar counter. "For Mombasa?"

"I'm in need of funding," Eames says. "I recently lent someone a good deal of cash."

Arthur raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"An old schoolmate of mine in some dire straits."

Arthur crosses his arms over his chest, his persona vanishing. "Tillery."

"There's no need for that expression, darling. You should be glad at how this all turned out. He wanted me to ask you for a loan."

"It's only a loan if they intend to pay you back," Arthur says, sounding both amused and unimpressed. "And why would he think I would ever lend him money?"

"He is under the mistaken impression that I have you wrapped around my little finger. Of course we both know it's quite the reverse--you're the one I'm incapable of saying no to."

Arthur cracks a smile. "Uh huh."

"In any case, it'll be fine. Regardless of whether this Mombasa job goes tits up or not, I'll be paid."

"No unnecessary risks." Arthur reaches out to fiddle with the band of Eames' watch. "You'll meet me in Paris after?"

"Already eager to see me again?"

Arthur finishes his drink and orders another round. "Always."

The evening progresses, culminating in Arthur drunkenly pressing up as closely as barstools will allow. Eames feels pleasantly warm.

"Do you want to try a threesome with Sudheer?" Arthur asks, with no segue whatsoever. Eames coughs up a mouthful of his drink; they'd been talking about the price of soybeans in Manila.

"Come again?" 

"A threesome. You, me, Sudheer. " Arthur sounds vaguely pained as he says it. "It might be a way to relieve some—some tension that's been built up. Like a pressure release valve. One time valve." 

_I think that's a terrible idea_ , Eames wants to say. _I would rather fuck Chulda while my mother watches_. But if he says no to this olive branch of Sudheer's, then he'll be seen by Arthur as the uncooperative one. The less open-minded one. The difficult one.

Eames takes a large gulp of his whisky before responding. "Do you think it will help?"

"No idea. But what the fuck do I know. Nothing I've tried with you two has worked."

"Darling," Eames starts. He doesn't know how to continue. It'd be a bald lie to say he doesn't antagonize Sudheer purposefully. An unconvincing one, at that.

"I wish you could see what I see in him," Arthur says, slurring slightly. "And that he could see what I see in you."

"Of course I can see what you see in him. That's precisely the problem," Eames replies, stroking the back of Arthur's neck. 

Arthur is quiet a moment, considering that. "Sudheer is scared you're trying to push him out of my life."

"I—" Eames can't deny the charge. "You make your own decisions. He should know that."

"He says it's never been like this with anybody else before. Any of my previous relationships, I mean," Arthur mumbles. "You and me talk everyday. I want to. I never—there's never been anyone else I wanted to do that with before. You're different."

Eames tries to imagine what he'd do if a new man came into Arthur's life and tried to edge him out of it. He suspects it would involve a good deal of punching. "I hope you're not attempting to inspire me to empathize with that wanker. Because it won't work. I'm above trivial nonsense like compassion."

"As if I could ever successfully change your mind about anything." Arthur sways on his barstool, listing an alarming degree to the side. "You'd see me coming from twenty miles away."

"Don’t butter me up while you simultaneously manipulate me. It's unbecoming."

"I would never," Arthur says, though it comes out mostly a jumble of vowel sounds as his eyes flutter shut and he nearly falls off his stool.

"Alright, I think we've both had enough," Eames declares, closing out the tab as he hauls Arthur into a position roughly resembling upright. He manages to walk them back to the flat, though Arthur's deadweight and handsy pawing don't make the journey any easier.

He deposits Arthur in bed next to a wary Sudheer, and retires to the couch, too drunk and tired for a fight. The coffers are low and he's not in the mood for prowling another bar for a place to stay.

* * * * *

Eames wakes up a few hours later to a noise. He pads silently into the kitchen where the light is on, and finds Sudheer braced against the sink, head bowed.

"Everything alright?" Eames asks to announce his presence. Sudheer's usually flawless hair is matted to his forehead with sweat.

Sudheer fills a glass with water from the tap and takes a deep drink. "Arthur is fine. Sleeping."

Eames watches Sudheer carefully. Eames could go back to the couch, certainly. What does he care if Sudheer is swaying against the counter as if it's the only thing keeping him upright? This could all be a ploy, a trap. "And you?"

"Some people get into dreamshare because they love to build. Some because they love to destroy." Sudheer touches his forehead to the water glass. "Others, for more mundane reasons. Like escaping their own minds."

Eames blinks. "You still dream naturally."

"Nightmares, mostly. And it's rare these days, but yes." Sudheer exhales. "I know many who would give their left kidney for the ability."

"Natural dreaming has always been overrated in my opinion." Eames turns back towards the couch, ready for this conversation to be over. "You should go back to bed. Arthur might wake up and think I've committed murder if you're gone too long."

"Please don't tell him about this," Sudheer says quietly, and Eames pauses. "He doesn't know the nightmares have started up again. I don't want him to—well, anyway. He doesn't need to know."

Eames crawls back onto the couch and closes his eyes. Sudheer has nightmares. Sudheer doesn't want Arthur to worry. Sudheer wants to protect Arthur. Sudheer loves Arthur. Bugger it all.

* * * * *

"Alright, let's give it a go," Eames says.

"Thanks, babe." Arthur smiles. "This is going to be great, you'll see."

* * * * *

"This is officially the worst threesome we have ever engaged in," Eames says. "And that's including the one when someone tried to rob us at gunpoint."

"You've done this often, then?" Sudheer asks, voice cloyingly sweet. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised Arthur's already gotten bored with sex that's just the two of you."

"Sudheer—" Arthur starts.

"Arthur knows I won't turn into a territorial lunatic if another person breathes in his general direction," Eames says. "I understand it can be difficult to comprehend that level of trust in a good relationship."

"There's no shame in being honest about how the ravages of time can deplete a sex drive," Sudheer says. "Erectile dysfunction is very common amongst men your age."

Eames bares his teeth. "I despise literally everything about you."

"The sentiment is mutual."

"Guys, hey." Arthur shoulders his way in between their glares. "I'd really love a blowjob."

"Of course, sweetness, whatever you want," Sudheer says, and Eames mentally curses Sudheer for beating him to the punch.

Sudheer slides gracefully onto the floor in between Arthur's spread legs. Like everything else in the world, Sudheer makes sucking cock look effortless and almost glamorous, if such a thing as a glamorous blowjob exists.

"Rather heavy use of tongue, wouldn't you say?" Eames remarks, causing Sudheer's eyes to narrow. "And I suppose some men do enjoy one sensation repeated over and over. No need for creativity if you have a single technique down pat."

"Eames," Arthur says, sounding strained. "Can you kiss me?"

Eames tries to focus on kissing Arthur, he really does, but it's impossible given the way Sudheer is groaning around Arthur's cock in an obvious bid for attention. It's so exaggerated and false Eames doesn't know how Arthur stands it.

"I hope you're aware that you sound like a farm animal being tortured," Eames informs Sudheer.

Arthur breaks off the kiss with a frown, and Sudheer pulls off. "Arthur, do you see how unreasonable he is being? Insulting me—"

"Insulting? I merely thought you'd like to know for future reference—"

"I am committing to the spirit of this threesome and he's—"

"I'm not the one howling at the moon—"

"Hey," Arthur says sharply, interrupting them both. "That's enough. My dick is getting soft listening to this crap."

"Apologies, Arthur," Eames murmurs.

Sudheer mumbles, "Sorry," and resumes sucking.

At the sight of Arthur's displeased expression, Eames retreats a bit. He sidles behind, pressing his chest to Arthur's back. Eames plays gently with Arthur's nipples, presses kisses to his neck, and waits for Arthur to relax. "Don't come yet," Eames whispers in between teasing bites of his earlobe. "I want to ride that gorgeous cock. Feel it hard and thick inside me."

Arthur's breath quickens. "Yeah?"

"I'm going to ride you till you're so close to coming you can taste it. And then I want you to pull out. Paint my chest, my neck, my mouth—I want to feel it drip all over me."

"Fuck," Arthur moans. "Sudheer, stop, you have to stop."

Sudheer pulls off with a displeased sounding pop. "Would you like to do something else?"

"Eames is going to, uh..."

Eames maneuvers Arthur onto his back and climbs over him to put on the condom, giving him a close-up view of Eames' arse. Arthur is, as always, fully appreciative, reaching out to play with Eames' slicked hole and mouth lightly at Eames' bollocks.

Eames faces Arthur as he slides onto his cock, pleased by the physical sensation as well as the eager expression on Arthur's face. "Your cock feels perfect, darling."

"Yeah," Arthur replies, dreamily. "God, Eames."

Eames begins to move, bending over to kiss Arthur as he does. Sudheer clears his throat, several times.

"Come here, Sudheer," Arthur says, pushing Eames back, gently. "I'll suck you."

Contrary to what pornography would have one believe, arranging three bodies for simultaneous fucking is no easy matter. Sudheer climbing astride Arthur's face leads to approximately two seconds of dick licking before Arthur nudges Sudheer off, citing an inability to breathe. Variations are tried, with cock positioned at different angles and speeds, all to no avail.

Sudheer slinks to the edge of the mattress, momentarily defeated.

"How about you two?" Arthur says, unwilling to give up. "Maybe a spit-roast with Eames in the middle?"

Eames looks at Sudheer's cock with what must be visible disgust, because Sudheer rolls his eyes and says, "Yes, and I'm sure your dick tastes like rainbows and cotton candy."

"I'd love to, Arthur," Eames drawls. "But I'm afraid I might be too distracted by your fucking me and lose track of my teeth."

Arthur sighs. "Can you at least kiss?"

"Whatever you want, sweetness," Sudheer says, scooting over with an expression of barely concealed distaste.

Eames leans forward, trying not to grimace. They tilt their heads in the same direction, causing noses to collide, leading to a tense stare-off. Eames twists his face the other way and Sudheer pushes in too quickly, clipping teeth painfully against Eames' upper lip.

After a struggle, their mouths finally align and the kiss begins. Kissing Sudheer is like mouthing a mannequin—no spark to it whatsoever. A mannequin with great skill and technique, which Eames will only ever admit in the solitude of his own mind. It does nothing for Eames' dick, regardless. He wonders how long he has to keep doing this before he can withdraw and say he tried.

When the kiss finally, mercifully ends, Sudheer pulls back with a sour expression that's likely mirrored on Eames' face.

"No good?" Arthur asks, resigned.

"I don't think we're quite compatible that way," Eames says, forcing all the remaining tact he possesses into that sentence.

Arthur sighs. "I was really hoping this might lead to some hot hate sex."

"Let's focus on you," Sudheer says, leaning forward. It's a kiss that strongly resembles Sudheer devouring Arthur's face, Sudheer bent over Eames's head with arms swinging this way and that.

"Ow, fuck, bloody fuck," Eames yelps when Sudheer's elbow slams into the bridge of his nose. "Watch it, you clumsy—"

"I barely touched you, you overgrown infant—"

"Guys—"

"This isn't working," Sudheer declares. "I hoped this could help, but Eames is—"

"Fuck you, you manipulative prick—"

"Oh, I'm the manipulative one here? Because—"

"This was a mistake," Arthur says, scooting away from both of them. "A huge, horrible mistake born from my fucking nightmares and I'd like to wake up now." 

Eames gingerly closes his legs. "Are we quite finished attempting to solve our problems with sex? Because if so, I'd like a moment to freshen up before we talk this through and attempt to find a solution."

"I'm sleeping on the couch," Arthur says, vaulting out of bed and disappearing out the door.

There's a moment of stunned silence.

Sudheer says, "Well, it's good to know he does that to you, too."

"If by 'that' you mean leave in the midst of conversation he doesn't want to have, then yes," Eames replies. 

"Arthur said you like to talk." Sudheer takes a seat on the far corner of the mattress.

"To him."

"You were the one that suggested we try to find a solution."

"'We' meaning Arthur and I."

"Well, Arthur doesn't seem to be in the mood, so I'm what you've got."

"Bloody—fine." Eames crawls up the bed and flops backwards onto the pillows. "Temporary ceasefire."

"Agreed," Sudheer says. "This situation is unsustainable."

"Thank you for that profoundly insightful observation," Eames says, and stops. "Sorry. Slipped out before I could catch myself."

Sudheer inclines his head to one side. "Let's get to it, then. Are you trying to push me out of Arthur's life?"

"I could ask you that," Eames replies. "You're the one constantly questioning my intentions, despite the fact that Arthur and I have been together for two years."

"After eight years of fucking around." Sudheer's voice sharpens. "Which record of behavior should I believe?"

"Relationships evolve over time. You should appreciate that better than anyone."

"Not always for the better," Sudheer mutters.

"No, indeed," Eames agrees, a bit smugly.

"Arthur has had more flings than I can count. Some became relationships. None lasted more than a year. Not with his lifestyle, the travel, and secrecy. Except for you."

"Lucky me."

"Not luck." Sudheer pauses. "I'm never going to like you, Eames. But when you're not being a complete idiot, you make Arthur happy."

"Don't hold back now," Eames murmurs. "Do tell me how you really feel." 

"This isn’t just about me. The fighting is making Arthur miserable."

"Now you presume to speak for how he feels?" 

"I thought when I met Arthur, the hard part was over. I'd marry my soul mate and we'd never need anyone or anything else again. Happily ever after for the rest of our lives." Sudheer snorts. "Fantasies of a child. I couldn't begin to imagine the path my life and our relationship would take."

"Do you still want that?" Eames asks, warily. "Monogamy and marriage?"

"No. Arthur and I don't work on those terms, no matter how much I might have wished we did." Sudheer stares down at the floor. "We appreciate each other more, now."

"I'm not interested in monogamy." Eames exhales. "But I must admit that I wasn't quite--prepared to share Arthur, either. I didn't realize how difficult it would be."

"Only so much of his attention and time to go around." Sudheer pauses. "If things keep going this way—Arthur's going to feel like he has to make a choice between us."

"You've been with Arthur practically since he was in nappies," Eames forces the words. "You've outlasted all his others. Don't you think you'll outlast me too?"

"I used to be sure of it." Sudheer swallows, Adam's apple moving down the long column of his throat. "Now I'm not—not so certain."

"A high compliment."

"More of an error in judgment," Sudheer replies. "I don't want him to pick you over me, obviously. But I don't want to be picked over you, either."

"I find that rather difficult to believe."

"Think about it. How long before the resentment eats Arthur up inside? How long before he starts to hate me for ruining a—a good thing in his life?" 

The idea of losing Arthur over Sudheer is—horrible. Wretched. Eames can hardly bear to consider it. And yet—that's what is at stake here. That could be the outcome if he can't come to terms with Sudheer. "What do you want from me?"

"No more sabotage. No more surprise visits. From either of us. Mutual disarmament."

Eames stares up at the ceiling. "I don't know if I can trust you."

"You're a con man, married to a woman for money, and seduce people in dreams for a living," Sudheer says. "Should I trust you?"

Eames heaves a sigh and sits up. "Very well. Truce. If you go back on your word--"

"I won't." Sudheer takes a deep breath. "You should go to him."

"You're not going to try and claim the honors?"

"You're the one he wants to talk to." Sudheer blinks and turns his face away. "He can't hear me right now."

* * * * *

Eames finds Arthur sprawled across the couch, wide awake and displeased about it.

"Darling," Eames says, touching Arthur's shoulder gently.

"If you're here to talk shit about Sudheer, I don't want to hear it."

"Sudheer and I conferred. We came to an accord of sorts. If you'd like to hear about it."

Arthur looks up at Eames suspiciously. "What kind of accord?"

Eames nudges the PASIV out from under the sofa. "Let's go under to discuss. You're exhausted."

"You don't want to talk here?"

"I'd prefer less of an audience." Eames inclines his head at the open bedroom door. "We can go wherever you'd like."

* * * * *

"Good god, Arthur," Eames says, staring up at where Arthur sits in the bough of a tall London Plane tree. "How did you get up there?"

"Me and Aiden used to sneak into our neighbor's yards by climbing trees. Swam in their pools and used their swing sets," Arthur replies, seeming perfectly at ease. "Harder as you get older and heavier, though. Need a stronger tree branch to support the weight of an adult."

"I misspent my youth firmly planted to the ground." Eames squints at the mottled tree bark, not sure where to even begin scaling upwards. A year ago, this tree could barely support its own weight, much less two grown men.

Arthur tosses a rope ladder down to Eames. "Here. Climb up."

Eames scrambles awkwardly up. "I don't know about this." He sways back and forth on the branch, which groans under their combined weight.

"Here, lean back against the trunk, it'll feel more stable."

Eames takes Arthur's steady hand and swallows, focusing on his balance. "Right."

Arthur's expression softens. "Don't worry, baby. I've got you."

"I'll hold you to it," Eames replies. Once he's no longer in immediate danger of tumbling arse over tits, he asks, "Why are we hiding up here?"

"We're not hiding. This is a strategic retreat," Arthur replies, staring down at the ground.

"Alright, a strategic retreat from what?"

"From armed conflict."

"Has your subconscious manifested a village of spear-wielding natives?"

"Something like that," Arthur says as the dim sound of gunfire echoes in the distance. "We should have a little while to talk, at least."

Eames touches the tense line of Arthur's jaw. "This business between Sudheer and I is making you miserable, isn't it?"

"I kind of thought it'd be more fun. Two hot guys fighting over me. Two hot guys in a threesome," Arthur says. He's wearing a grey T-shirt that dips low in the front, leaving his throat exposed and vulnerable. "It was cool for the first thirty seconds. Then you opened your mouths."

"You don't enjoy our witty repartee?"

"I hope that's a rhetorical question." Arthur rubs his temples. "You said you guys came to an agreement."

"A ceasefire. No more sabotage or interference or hostage taking. By either of us." Eames pauses. "And for myself I wanted to—I want to apologize."

"For?"

"I was disappointed when Sudheer turned up. I wanted to surprise you and spend the week in a blissful sex haze before Mombasa." Eames toys with Arthur's sleeve. "I missed you and I wanted you all to myself. Which is why I've been acting rather childishly. Not an excuse, but an explanation."

"Okay." Arthur tips Eames' head up. "No more 'misleading' me about where you are and when you're coming to visit." 

"From now on, I'll schedule our time, as I probably should have done all along," Eames says. "I was rather spoiled, traveling together as we completed my sex bucket list. I had you to myself."

"I didn't realize I'd be in such high demand."

Eames rests his forehead against Arthur's shoulder and inhales the warm scent of his cologne. "Always."

"Can you really accept Sudheer?" Behind Arthur, a familiar green boa constrictor winds along the tree branch. "Or will we keep having this fight until something snaps?" 

"I know what he means to you. The connection to your past, to the US—I want you to have that. I want," Eames takes a fortifying breath. "I want you to have Sudheer in your life."

"Do you mean that or are you just telling me what you think I want to hear?"

"I'm absolute crap at this self-sacrificing nonsense, darling. Don't make me say another positive thing about Sudheer—I find it physically painful."

Arthur chuckles. "Okay, that I believe."

The snake slithers up Eames' leg, its head coming to rest in his lap. He can't bring himself to pet it. But with Arthur beside him, he supposes he can endure it.

* * * * *

When Eames enters Arthur's flat, the first thing he sees is his bouquet of flowers prominently displayed on the coffee table. They're wilting after a week, but not entirely dead yet.

"Arthur's still getting ready," Sudheer says, glancing up from the book he's reading. Upon closer inspection, Eames can see the title: _War and Peace_. Pretentious wanker. Whatever. Eames could read it in the original Russian if he wanted. "He's in the bedroom."

"Still?" Eames glances at his watch. "We have to leave in five minutes."

The bedroom is a disaster zone—even more so than Arthur's usual. Clothing is strewn across the floor, over the nightstand, on the lamps. Half of it appears to be Sudheer's. "I was hoping to wear that shirt you like," Arthur says as he rummages through a pile of trousers on the bed. "But I can't find it."

"You could go shirtless. It'd make the journey to the airport that much more enjoyable for me."

"Tempting, but I need to run some errands on the way back." Arthur extracts an improbably-wrinkle-free shirt from underneath a pair of leather trousers. "I'm almost ready. I just need to step into the bathroom for a second."

Eames watches Arthur dress and feels a pang. Strange to miss such a mundane routine. Strange to feel wistful about leaving it, even if only temporarily.

Once he's all gussied up, Arthur rests his hands on Eames' shoulders. "Are you okay? Tell me what you're thinking."

"I'm going to miss you, I'm afraid," Eames replies. "You may receive several pining missives before I return. And an assortment of lewd photographs."

Arthur smiles. "I'm going to miss you, too. Three weeks, right?"

"Assuming no one is stabbed ahead of schedule, yes."

"You stay stab-free." Arthur holds out a hand to help Eames up. "When you come back, I plan on having a lot of athletic sex. No excuses about war wounds or possible infections."

"As if I need a reason to lie about in bed."

They head down to where Eames' Porsche is waiting, Arthur handling everything with care as he takes the wheel. "Shit," Arthur mutters. He pats his trouser pockets. "I forgot my license."

"I'll run up and fetch it."

Of course Sudheer is waiting by the open door of the flat. Wallet in hand. "He might need this."

"He might." Infuriating, how Sudheer always seems to know how to care for Arthur, how to provide for him in a way that Eames--can't. Yet. Perhaps never will be able to. "Thank you." The words feel like ground up glass in Eames' throat, but they're--for Arthur's sake.

"Enjoy Mombasa." Sudheer's jaw tightens. "Try not to get yourself stupidly killed. Arthur will mope for hours if you die. Possibly days."

"Historically, survival has been one of my strengths," Eames replies. He takes a deep breath. "Don't touch the car. Arthur drives. You may gaze upon and sit within it while filled with reverent wonder."

"I'm allowed to sit in it now? What if I breathe on the glass wrong and leave a smudge?"

"I'll send Arthur to have it professionally cleaned and detailed."

Sudheer snorts, a twitch at the corner of his elegant mouth. "You would, wouldn't you?"

"Don't make Arthur pay for your mistakes." Eames pauses. "Isn't that what we've learned from this fiasco of a week?"

"I guess so." Sudheer leans in the doorway, a tall silhouette in the warm light radiating from Arthur's home. "I'll see you around, Eames. Hopefully not too often."

"Indeed," Eames says as he heads back to Arthur. "I'll be seeing you."

fin


End file.
